


i want to hold your hand (goddammit)

by PersephonesReign



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley can't take a hint, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nervous Crowley (Good Omens), Requited Love, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Unresolved Romantic Tension, Wing Kink, lots of talk about hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-06-30 02:59:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19844164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersephonesReign/pseuds/PersephonesReign
Summary: Crowley just wants to hold Aziraphale's hand. What's so difficult about that?__________________________"M'fine," Crowley mutters.He had not been prepared for Aziraphale to sit right next to him on the bus ride home from Tadfield. Crowley feels his heart flutter in his chest.He is so close. His hand is. Right. There. All I have to do is just reach out....His thoughts are violently interrupted when Aziraphale says, “Whatever you say, dear,” and reaches over to pat the top of Crowley’s hand and give it a brief squeeze.Crowley thinks he might discorporate on the spot.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing some angst lately, so I needed something with a happy ending. This will be another couple of chapters, culminating in lots fluff (and smut in the final chapter). I hope you enjoy it!

_This is it. Six thousand years and this'll be the end of me. I’m done for...and after all this time._

A slight tremor runs through Crowley's form, like the aftershock of an earthquake.

_I am not afraid. I am a demon, for fuck's sake! I’m the literal stuff of nightmares, the thing that goes bump in the night. I do not feel fear; other creatures fear me. And I sure as shit am not afraid of a stupid, bloody angel._

Crowley sneers, unable to contain the outward manifestation of his inner dialogue.

"Are you quite alright?" The offending angel asks, eyes darting over to Crowley's face, taking in his nasty expression.

"M'fine," Crowley mutters, certainly _not_ embarrassed that he's been caught.

He looks down at his hand and wills it to relax the death-grip it currently has on his thigh. He glances over at Aziraphale's hand, which is resting delicately on the outside edge of his own thigh, so close to brushing Crowley's that he can feel the heat of it. _So close._

Crowley had not been expecting, not been prepared, for Aziraphale to sit so close. It is not as if this was their first time riding the bus together, but...well, rather, it was. They had ridden the same bus before, always a safe distance apart, but never actually together. On this ride home from Tadfield, though, after successfully averting the once-impending Apocalypse, Aziraphale had chosen _to sit right next to him_. Crowley feels his heart flutter in his chest. _He is so close. His hand is. Right. There. All I have to do is just reach out...Come on, do it, you fucking coward, just do it._

His thoughts are violently interrupted when Aziraphale says, “Whatever you say, dear,” and reaches over to pat the top of Crowley’s hand and give it a brief squeeze.

Crowley thinks he might discorporate on the spot.

* * *

Crowley bursts through the door of his flat.

“Well, welcome to my...” He waves his hand around in favor of finishing his sentence. He hears Aziraphale shut the door behind him but cannot bring himself to turn and see the angel entering his private space. He really hasn’t been able to look at Aziraphale for more than a second at a time after the brief touch on their ride home, consumed with worry that his face might reveal too much. He had spent the remainder of the trip caught in a thought loop the likes of _do it again, do it again, do it again, hold my hand, goddammit._ But, much to his disappointment, Aziraphale had not reached out a second time _._

 _I could have done it myself_ , he reflects bitterly. _The first touch might have been an open invitation. Maybe he wanted me to do it. I hope he wanted me to do it. But no, I fucking blew it like I always do._ Crowley’s lamentations are once again interrupted by Aziraphale’s voice. 

“So, are you going to give me the grand tour, my dear?”

Crowley finally faces the angel and blinks once. _That’s right. He’s been here before, sure, but he’s never actually been inside. No further than the entryway._

The few times Aziraphale had met Crowley at his place, it had only been to pick him up for lunch, or dinner, or drinks. He had avoided inviting Aziraphale in for fear that the sight of him there might destroy his six-thousand-year weakened resolve, causing him to act out in a way he might regret. _Now that he’s here I might not let him leave_ , Crowley thinks suddenly. _Keep him safe here, away from danger, from prying influences. I could set up more booby traps..._

He shakes his head to clear the unwelcome thoughts. _Stop being so fucking overprotective, it’s unbecoming._ He realizes Aziraphale is staring at him expectantly.

“Erm, right...” Crowley starts. He turns once more and gestures over his shoulder for Aziraphale to follow. Shows him the study (ignoring Aziraphale’s murmured “Oh, good Lord,” as he takes in the golden throne), and leads him through the revolving door into the atrium where he keeps his luscious (and terrified) plants. He is prepared to blaze on through to show Aziraphale into the living room when he hears the other being let out a small gasp. He freezes for a second before he turns with a defensive “whaaat?” on his lips. 

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale says as he bends down to more closely inspect a particularly verdant specimen.

Crowley’s mouth is suddenly desert-dry. Aziraphale cups one of the white speckled leaves and runs his thumb, feather-light, across the glossy surface. The plant quivers under the delicate treatment and Crowley feels a sympathetic full-body jolt. He thought he’d understood the deadly sins before, but no, he has never been so envious of anything. The plant that has captured Aziraphale’s attention is a lovely cross between a _begonia aconitifolia_ and a _begonia coccinea,_ marked by a very distinctive shape to its leaves. It is commonly known as an “Angel Wing Begonia.” Drunk on an inhuman amount of a particularly fine single-barrel whiskey, Crowley had purchased the houseplant on a whim, his heart softened and mind occupied by thoughts of a certain angel.

“It’s beautiful,” Aziraphale states, looking up to meet Crowley’s sunglass-masked eyes. He turns his attention back to the plant.

“Why, hello, you lovely thing,” he croons, and leans closer to examine the vibrant pink flowers that hang in bunches between the wing-shaped leaves. The angel _fucking nuzzles_ his nose gently against a crop of flowers as he breathes in their slight fragrance. Crowley makes a choked noise. Aziraphale looks up at Crowley, one eyebrow elegantly cocked in question.

“Don’t...ugh...don’t be so _nice_ to it,” Crowley grinds out as a feeble explanation for his covetous sound. “It’ll get the wrong idea.”

Aziraphale chuckles softly but stands up. “Well, come along then, I’d like to see the rest of the place.” He walks past Crowley, their shoulders brushing in the small space of the entryway as Aziraphale makes his way into the living room. Crowley takes a moment to narrow his eyes menacingly at the begonia and growl lowly, teeth bared, before he whips around on his heel with a dramatic flourish to follow Aziraphale. 

“Living room,” Crowley states with a mild eye roll at his own obviousness. “Kitchen is through there,” he nods toward another doorway. “And down that hall is the...erm...bedroom,” He gulps. He has never imagined Aziraphale inside said bedroom, sprawled across the plush mattress in the throes of ecstasy...no, certainly not. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. He clears his throat.

“Drink,” he says, more a statement than a question.

“I think one is rather in order, yes,” Aziraphale responds.

Crowley retreats into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of Château Margaux he has been saving for a special occasion. He had become quite fond of Bordeaux while on an extended temptation trip to France. Once back in the living room, he carefully pours two glasses, employing a small demonic intervention to ensure the dense and opulent wine is perfectly decanted. As Aziraphale takes it, his fingers curl around Crowley’s for a moment and the demon is barely able to avoid dropping the glass. He lifts his own glass to his lips and takes a hasty, too-large gulp to wet his arid mouth.

Crowley leans back into the couch alongside Aziraphale, careful not to sit too close. He does not want the angel to notice that he is trembling slightly, nerves frayed. _What is wrong with you, you massive idiot? Acting like you’re going to catch fire every time he so much as looks at you with those big, stupid...gorgeous, azurine eyes._ _Just look at him. Beautiful. Downright angelic._ Crowley suppresses a snort. _‘Course he’s angelic. Most perfect angel the Almighty ever made, might be the only truly good thing She’s ever created, aside from this damned planet, which is still so full of rot as much as good. Not like him, he’s..._

“Crowley?” Aziraphale questions and Crowley starts when he realizes that he’s been staring. He feels his face begin to flush. _Stop it! Stop that right now you traitorous fucking thing, you are my body and you will not...ah, shit, he’s talking to you and you’re still staring like a goddamn moron._ Crowley hastily turns his head to stare at the wall in front of him before he realizes how strange it must have looked. _Fuck!_ He looks back at Aziraphale. “Yes, angel?” He goes for nonchalant but misses the mark entirely. 

“You’ve been acting rather strangely since we left Tadfield, my boy. I know it has been quite the trying day, I do, but...”

Crowley cuts him off. “I am fine, angel,” he spits. “Just...” he racks his brain for a suitable explanation. “Thinking about the prophecy!” Crowley exclaims, a bit too loud in his pride at his own cleverness. “We need to figure out what it means.”

“Why...yes, you’re right,” Aziraphale answers. Crowley misses the skeptical tone infecting Aziraphale’s voice.

* * *

And that is how the angel and demon end up passing the next hour or so, deep in animated conversation about the meaning of a three hundred and sixty-odd years old prophecy and landing on a brilliant (if they do say so themselves) plan. 

Once they had finished ironing out the details, a silence settles between them. Aziraphale stretches, yawning slightly. “Well, I do suppose we ought to get some rest. Big day tomorrow and all that, if our estimations are correct. Which way to the bedroom, again?” He asks, tone far too light.

Crowley, mid-stretch himself, startles and falls off the edge of the couch into a heap on the floor. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale get even...closer. 
> 
> Crowley balks. _What. The. Fuck. Is. Happening?_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short update this time! More chapters on the way.

“My goodness, Crowley, are you quite alright?” Aziraphale asks. He starts to bend down, reaching like he means to grab Crowley by the wrist and help him up. Crowley launches to his feet before Aziraphale can get a hand on him.

_Shit, shit, shit, what is happening? Did he really just...is he implying what I think he is implying? Nope, no, don’t even think about that. It’s just the wine, it’s making you...well._ He takes a quick step back to further the distance between himself and Aziraphale.

“The bedroom?” He squeaks. “It’s through the...” Crowley stops, momentarily filled with hostile frustration. _Oh, no,_ _no way_ , he rails. _He is not taking my bed. He wouldn’t even hold my hand, now he thinks he gets to sleep in my bed? He doesn’t even sleep, not really. That is my space. He can stay out here on the couch for all I care._ Crowley glares.

“ _My_ bedroom,” he snarls, “is down the hall. You can sleep out here on the couch,” he finishes, vindictive.

Deep down, Crowley knows he is being utterly ridiculous. Aziraphale is his guest and, despite common misconceptions, the demon does have manners. He knows he should offer Aziraphale the bed, but he cannot stand the thought of Aziraphale sleeping in _his_ bed, between _his_ silken sheets, relaxed and comfortable, without Crowley himself there beside him. _Pfft, possessive, much?_

“Nonsense, my dear,” Aziraphale responds, unperturbed. “I am sure there is plenty of room for the both of us.”

Crowley balks. _What. The. Fuck. Is. Happening?_

Rather than waiting for Crowley to reply, Aziraphale simply walks down the long hallway toward the aforementioned bedroom. Crowley starts to call out, but then snaps his jaw shut, blinking rapidly and shaking his head in resigned confusion. He throws his hands in the air, a tight hiss seeping out between clenched teeth, and follows Aziraphale.

Aziraphale has paused in the hallway and is gazing at the rather unique statute that occupies the space. He opens his mouth as if he is about to comment on it, but Crowley grunts and pushes past him before Aziraphale can seize the opportunity.

Once inside the sanctuary of his bedroom, Crowley feels that traitorous blush beginning in his cheeks again. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, unable to even glance in Aziraphale’s general direction. _This is too much, it is all too much. Go- Sa- argh, someone, fuckin’ help me. Please, for the love of anything, have a drop of mercy._

“I sleep on the left,” Crowley murmurs, snapping his fingers to change his clothes into a matching set of black silk pajamas. Normally, he sleeps without a shirt, but the idea of having that much skin exposed while Aziraphale _is in his bed_ is beyond his ability to handle at present. Crowley removes his sunglasses, placing them on the nightstand. He pulls back the covers just enough to make space for himself and lays down, facing the wall. He feels the bed dip behind him and hears Aziraphale fidget for a moment, settling in. Crowley chews the inside of his cheek.

“Nighty-night, dearest. Sleep well,” the angel says.

“Nighty-night,” Crowley mocks under his breath, rolling his eyes so hard it hurts.

* * *

Crowley stays on his side, immobile, until his arm starts to go numb. Ever-so-slowly, he shifts onto his back. His body goes rigor-stiff, though, when he realizes that his shoulder is a mere hair’s breadth away from Aziraphale’s. He can feel the pleasant-yet-stifling warmth of the angel radiating through the silk of his sleeve and into his skin. With every rise and fall of the other’s chest, Crowley feels the trespassing shoulder press faintly closer to his own. He clenches his fist reflexively but immediately stills when the motion causes his hand to brush against the back of Aziraphale’s fingers. Aziraphale’s hand twitches slightly, causing their hands to touch once more. _Was that...intentional?_ Heat pools in his belly. He listens to the angel’s gentle, rhythmic breathing, trying to determine if he is, in fact, asleep.

_Fucking hell, get it together. It’s fine, you’re fine, it’s all going to be...fuck, he is so close._ Crowley barely suppresses a whimper. _He’s never been this close. Oh, I can feel him, he’s so warm, so soft. I don’t even have to reach out now, we’re basically touching as it is. All I have to do is turn my hand a bit, curl my fingers. I think he’s out...maybe I can just grab his hand, pretend I did it in my sleep if he wakes up._

Crowley’s eyes abruptly widen in the dark, overcome with the gravity of the situation. _He is in my bed. My angel, my Aziraphale, he is in my bed. How many times have you imagined this, you naughty demon? How many times have you thought about him in this very bed, touching you, kissing you, fucking—_ Crowley sinks his sharp teeth into his bottom lip, desperately trying to halt the ill-timed thoughts. He can feel the heat that had been gathering in his stomach travel south. _Stop it! Seriously, this is so not the time, you can’t get a bloody hard-on right now, you imbecile. Aziraphale is right there...though, I suppose now might be the perfect time to...shut up! NO._

He bites down harder on his lip and takes a deep breath through his nose, willing himself to calm down. He shifts further towards the edge of the bed, trying to put at least a bit of space between them. Just as Crowley starts to move, the angel rolls over with a soft sigh, snuggling closer. His teeth break skin as he feels Aziraphale’s arm come up to drape across his heaving chest. Crowley is positively _screaming_ inside. _Oh, Christ, I am dead! This is it. This is how I die. Half-erect, with an angel in my bed, fucking cuddling me in his sleep._ _What in the hell did I do to deserve...oh, piss off, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?_ He argues with himself. _You wanted him in your bed, you wanted him to touch you. Should’ve been more careful what you wished for._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale have a rude awakening and put their plan into action.

Crowley feels like he is floating, cloud-high. Every muscle in his corporeal form is lax, a state of complete repose. His is sunshine-warm, and for a moment his sleep-addled brain relishes in the feeling of total comfort that embraces him. As Crowley slowly ebbs back to the waking world, he feels a pleasant weight pressing down the length of his left side. His senses begin to return in full, and he wrinkles his nose as he realizes something wispy-soft is tickling his cheek. He pries one somnolent eye open. His vision clears, and he realizes that the tickling sensation has been caused by loose tendrils of white-blonde hair.

_Wha...oh. Aziraphale. His head is on my chest. That’s nice_ , he thinks and starts to shut his eyes again. _Wait a minute, what?_ Crowley lets out a shriek and thrashes, shooting up into a sitting position. The abrupt movement and ear-splitting sound causes Aziraphale to wake with a start and a shout of his own. His shout startles Crowley once more and he lets out another scream, leaping backward. He misjudges the distance and finds himself in free-fall before the ground rises abruptly to meet him. Crowley sees a flash of white behind his eyes as his head connects sharply with the floor. He groans.

“What the ever-loving fuck!?” He hears the angel squeak and Crowley lets out a bark of surprised laughter.

“Crowley, what in Heaven’s name was that all about?”

Crowley sits up and sees that Aziraphale is clutching his chest, still breathing erratically.

“Sorry, angel,” Crowley chuckles. “I...” he stops when he is hit once again with the reality of what sent him reeling in the first place. _He was asleep! On my chest! We were...he was...holy shit._ Crowley shivers. For a fleeting second, he is livid. _And I missed it!_

“Bad dream?” he tries _. More like I realized the best dream I ever had was really happening and I panicking like a right idiot._

Aziraphale looks like he is going to argue but then thinks better of it. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he yields. “I suppose the customary question first thing in the morning is ‘how did you sleep’, but...”

Crowley flushes. “Better not.”

“What time is it?”

Crowley looks at the clock on the nightstand. “Oh, wow, it’s already eleven.”

Aziraphale gasps. “My goodness, however did we sleep so late?”

Crowley shrugs. “Comfortable...” He mutters, looking away.

“Well,” Aziraphale says as he climbs out of the bed. “We better get a wiggle on.”

Crowley snorts. “For fuck’s sake, stop saying that.”

Aziraphale chooses to ignore him. Crowley employs a quick demonic miracle to dress himself, noticing that Aziraphale is already fully clothed, looking far too put together after such a rude awakening. 

“The plan is rather simple, then. We switch forms. You, posing as me, of course, head to the.. _.ahh_...remains of the bookshop. I’ll stay here for a while. If no one has come for us by mid-afternoon, we meet in Saint James’s Park. Out in the open, to give our respective sides the opportunity to come for us.”

Crowley grunts in affirmation and exits the bedroom, unable to stand the stifling feeling of being there any longer, overwhelmed by memories of Aziraphale’s body against his _. I’m going to be inside that body soon._ He feels a sudden urge to giggle at the absurdity of the situation. He tamps it down when he hears Aziraphale’s footsteps following him back into the living room.

“So,” Crowley drawls. “Ever done anything like this before?” He can’t help but feel like he is asking about something else entirely.

Aziraphale clicks his tongue. “Of course not. Why would I have?”

_Not a good sign_ , Crowley thinks momentarily before he realizes that Aziraphale is definitely not sharing his headspace. _Damn it, focus, Crowley._

“Right ‘course.” He clears his throat. “How is this supposed to work, then?”

“Well, I am not entirely sure...”

Crowley makes a noise but Aziraphale raises a hand to silence him.

“But I do believe that if we make physical contact and simply...channel our energies into one another’s bodies, it should have the desired effect,” the angel finishes.

Crowley feels a tell-tale twist of arousal in his gut. _Oh, it’ll have some desired effect, alright, angel...argh, not nooow! Your life is on the line, Aziraphale’s life is on the bloody line, and all you can think about getting your dick wet. Are you kidding me? What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re disgusting._ He scowls. Aziraphale notices.

“Does that not sound acceptable?”

“No, it...it does. S’fine.”

Aziraphale nods, resolute. “Better get to it.”

Crowley shuffles closer as Aziraphale extends his hand. He feels a momentary wave of dizziness. _Now he wants to hold my hand._ Crowley reaches out and grazes Aziraphale's fingers.

Aziraphale shifts to grip Crowley's hand, palm to palm, in a proper handshake. Crowley worries briefly that his hand is sweaty, unpleasant to touch. Aziraphale strokes the juncture of Crowley's hand with his thumb. He feels a spark run up the length of his arm and into his chest. _Heaven, that feels nice._

His head swims and a tugging sensation begins in his navel as his essence flows forth and into the angel's corporeal form. For a moment he feels his soul mingle with Aziraphale's, filling him with the warmth of the first rays of sunlight to ever heat the sands of the Earth, with consuming flames of a sword gifted in the first act of kindness to humanity. He smells the perfume of petrichor on the air, the first rains on dry soil, mingled with the scent of ozone on the horizon, sees a flash of lightning that splits the sky. He tastes the slightly sour tang of electricity on his tongue and feels the beat of cool raindrops drumming on his skin, soothing heated flesh. He feels the caress of soft feathers, enveloping him in an ethereal embrace. He is full of love and longing, every nerve alight with Aziraphale's heavenly glow and fond memories of a fated encounter, foreshadowing millennia of stolen moments to come. The intoxicating feeling passes as quickly as it came, and when Crowley blinks he does so with foreign eyes. He takes in the long-desired sight of the angel's hand in his own, marveling at the upended vantage. He releases his grasp, awkwardly dropping the unfamiliar appendage by his side.

"It worked," he says simply, stunned at the sound of Aziraphale's voice speaking his words.

"It seems it did, indeed," Aziraphale responds, the phrasing strange to Crowley's ears, spoken in his own tongue. Aziraphale lifts the slender hands attached to his new form, turning them over slowly, examining them. Crowley tilts his head to one side and watches.

"Well, then. We ought to get a move on. Or, rather, I suppose you should."

Crowley nods. "Give us a call if no one comes and then meet in the park," he summarizes.

"Certainly."

"Right." Crowley turns to leave.

"Crowley?" he hears his own voice question from behind him.

"Yeah?"

"Perhaps you should transport yourself there instead. That way, if anyone is watching, they won't see you...err, _me_ , that is, leaving your flat. Can't have them thinking we've spent the evening conspiring."

"'Sure."

Crowley raises a hand but stops short when he hears Aziraphale say his name again.

"Crowley?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

Aziraphale opens his mouth and takes a step toward Crowley. He stops short and shuts it again, frowning. Finally, he says, "Do be careful, my dear."

"You, too, angel."

Crowley turns to meet Aziraphale's eyes a final time. And with that, he snaps his fingers, transporting himself to the burnt-out remains of the bookshop.

* * *

Crowley and Aziraphale meet again on a bench beneath a willow tree in St. James's Park when the ruse is done. Crowley is filled with relief at the sight of him and barely suppresses the urge to gather the angel into his arms. Their hands touch once more when the pair switch back into their given bodies and Crowley delights in the feeling of Aziraphale's soul passing through his. He wonders if Aziraphale can feel it, too. If he can sense the desire deeply rooted in Crowley’s being. He cannot decide if it would be better or worse for the truth of his affections to be borne in the mingling of their souls rather than in words carefully conceived and whispered allowed.

If Aziraphale did sense anything, he does not mention it, so Crowley says nothing in return. He invites Aziraphale to lunch instead and feels his heart leap when the angel accepts.

For now, they are safe, the danger well and truly past. And yet, Crowley can't help but feel like he has stumbled and fallen out of the frying pan and into the fire. _It's now or never, you spineless cretin. You'll die from all this blasted longing if you keep going like this. You have to tell him._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley finally makes his move.

_Okay. You can do this. You stared down a host of archangels and basked in Hellfire today. This is nothing. You can hold one angel's hand._

Crowley and Aziraphale are seated at their usual table at the Ritz. Crowley is sipping his after-lunch espresso, watching Aziraphale lick sticky remnants of ganache off his dessert spoon. _Oh, that is not fair. Positively sinful, that is. Look at the way he wraps his tongue around it. And I thought I could do interesting things with my..._

Aziraphale's eyes had been closed as he savored the last bite of his dessert, but they snap open as if he can feel Crowley's stare. Their eyes meet and Aziraphale pauses mid-lick. He slides the bowl of the spoon all the way into his mouth and closes his lips around it, cheeks hollowing as he gives it a single hard suck. He slowly withdraws the spoon from his mouth with a barely audible pop, giving a rather unangelic moan as he does so, soft enough to reach only Crowley’s ears. Crowley's mouth hangs slack and he inhales sharply. His tongue darts out to wet kiss-hungry lips. He glances down to where his hand rests on the table next to Aziraphale's, their pinky fingers almost touching. He meets the other's gaze again and sees that Aziraphale is smiling at him, gentle yet a tad...expectant?

Crowley releases a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Time seems to slow to a crawl as he stretches his fingers out to cover the back of Aziraphale's hand. The angel immediately turns his hand over to lace his fingers with Crowley's. His face breaks into a wide grin that borders on smug.

"I was wondering when you were finally going to work up the courage to do that, dear boy."

"What...what the hell are you on about?" Crowley hisses.

Aziraphale has the gall to chuckle. "I had an inkling that was why you’ve been acting so strangely. I could tell that you wanted to...all those long glances at our hands and all that nervous fidgeting."

“I don’t know what you’re...” Crowley starts to deny, but Aziraphale gives him a knowing smirk. _Bastard._

He sighs. "Why the hell didn't you say anything, then?" _Why didn't you do anything?_

“I tried to give you a sign! I… I touched your hand on the bus, and I brought up your odd behavior while we were sitting on the couch, and goodness, I even suggested we both sleep in your bed!”

"Ack, Aziraphale, for fuck's sake, you can't just...I didn't..." Crowley's face turns red. "Were you awake when you...when we...ahm, _cuddled_?" He whispers like it's a dirty word.

"No! Well, I mean...not later when... I suppose, at first..." Aziraphale's face takes on a matching glow. Crowley's eyes widen. He can't help but notice that Aziraphale is still tightly grasping his hand. He swallows against the lump in his throat.

"So, when you rolled over and put your arm around me..."

"I may have been awake, yes," Aziraphale murmurs, looking away.

Crowley can't help but laugh. He practically roars with it, causing some of the other restaurant patrons to glare in his direction. Aziraphale has the decency to look embarrassed and tries to pull his hand away, but Crowley grips it tighter.

"Oh, no, angel," His voice takes on a raspier quality than he intended. "Now that I've got you, I'm not letting you go." Feeling suddenly brave, he raises their joined hands to his lips and kisses each of Aziraphale's knuckles. "Why didn't you _say_ anything?" He asks again.

Aziraphale clears his throat. "Honestly, my dear, I... well, I suppose I've always relied on you to be the bold one. I wanted to, I did, but I just thought..." He trails off. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

"It's alright, Aziraphale. I think I understand. We got there eventually, didn't we?"

"We always do, darling."

"Darling, eh? I like that." Crowley grins. "What do you say we get out of here?"

Aziraphale smiles, radiant. The beatific sight of his angel beaming at him is enough to overwhelm him and sets his heart ablaze, his stomach aflutter. His confidence evaporates like the alcohol out of a baked confection. “That is...if you want...we could go have a drink or...”

“I would like that very much.” Aziraphale squeezes his hand. “Darling,” he adds with a cheeky grin.

Crowley sputters and nearly smacks a tray out of their waiter’s hand in his haste to flag him down for the cheque.

* * *

Crowley opens the door to his flat and allows Aziraphale to step inside ahead of him. _Not trying to get a peek at that fine arse, no, definitely not. It’s just chivalry_ , he thinks as he certainly does _not_ rest his gaze on Aziraphale’s backside. He turns away to shut the door behind him and the moment he does he feels an insistent hand grip his shoulder, turning him. Crowley’s back collides with the door as Aziraphale presses the full length of his body against his. He marvels for a moment at how perfectly they fit together, like two puzzle pieces falling into place.

Aziraphale reaches up to remove Crowley’s sunglasses and slips them into the pocket of his jacket. He traces both thumbs across his cheekbones and slides one hand down to cup his jaw. He draws the thumb on his other hand across Crowley’s bottom lip. Crowley flicks out his tongue, tracing it along the digit. He hears Aziraphale’s breath leave him in a small gasp. The angel presses closer and tilts his head slightly, leaning up to tentatively brushes his lips against Crowley’s. Wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, Crowley clutches him tightly, frightened for one irrational moment that if he lets him go he will disappear, or that he will wake up and it will all have been a lovely dream. He presses his lips harder against Aziraphale’s in a still chaste, closed-mouth kiss. Aziraphale moves his lips against Crowley’s, trying to deepen the kiss, but Crowley leans his head back as far as Aziraphale’s close proximity and the solidness of the door will allow. Aziraphale chases his lips for a moment before Crowley gasps out, “Wait...oh Christ, Aziraphale, wait.”

Aziraphale reels back, startled, and blinks. “What’s wrong?”

Crowley gently disentangles himself from Aziraphale’s embrace and takes a few steps further into the room. “Nothing is wrong, don’t worry. It’s...it’s great, actually. But, before we take this any further...assuming you want to take this further,” he amends, worried that he is being presumptuous.

Aziraphale nods rapidly.

“I just...I want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

Crowley closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. _I promised myself I was going to tell him, I’ve already started, can’t back out now. I have to, I don’t think I could take it afterwards if I... if he...fuck, okay. He deserves to know before falling into bed with me, he has to understand what it means to me. What he means to me. Come on, just..._

He opens his mouth and the words come tumbling out.

“Aziraphale...I... I need you to know how much you mean to me. When I went to the bookshop and it was on fire, and I couldn’t find you, couldn’t sense you any longer, I thought... _I fucking thought you were dead_. And, and a piece of me died, too, then, the most important piece of me, I think...I couldn’t...I just couldn’t imagine living in a world without you, I didn’t want to even think about it. I like my life here on Earth, I do, but what I like most...”

Crowley groans and begins to pace across the floor, running his hands through his hair.

“Look, I know how much you like this world, how much you wanted to save it, and I did too, don’t get me wrong, but without you...well, shit, it all just...just ceased to matter, I guess. I, I wasn’t sure how I could possibly go on and, I don’t know, something just broke open inside me and I...”

He pauses to take a steadying breath.

“What I am trying to say here, and doing it terribly I think, argh, I'm no good at this..." Crowley stops wearing a track into his floor and squeezes his eyes shut so tightly he sees stars. "I love you, angel. Aziraphale. I am _in love_ with you. Arse over teakettle, absolutely goddamn mad about you. I know the humans call it falling in love and that’s, it’s not quite right, I mean, sure it’s terrifying and sometimes I love you so much, so hard, that it hurts, like...like my heart is in a fucking vice, but it isn’t like falling, not in that way, it’s...it's like flying. I’m so stupidly full of love for you that I feel like I’m soaring, sky-fucking-high and...”

His rambling ceases as Aziraphale marches across the room to fist both hands in the front of Crowley’s jacket and slam their mouths together. It is an inelegant kiss to start. Crowley’s mouth had still been open and their teeth clack together, but it quickly takes an impassioned turn when Crowley brings his hands up to reverently cup Aziraphale’s face, pulling him closer. He returns the kiss with the fervor of a starving man. He tries to pour every speck of love in him into Aziraphale’s mouth, every thought he was unable to articulate. Aziraphale breaks the kiss but keeps his hold on Crowley.

“I think that was rather well spoken, my darling.” He gently wipes the back of his hand across Crowley’s cheek and kisses the rosy flush left behind by the rivulet of tears. Crowley sees the wetness on the angel’s hand but cannot recall at what point he had started to cry. _Bloody hell, I’ve gone completely soft._

“And, in case you had not already realized, I am wholly, completely, utterly in love with you, Crowley, my Crowley. I am yours, body and soul, if you’ll have me.”

Crowley cannot help the euphoric grin that spreads across his face. He kisses Aziraphale soundly and feels the angel smile against his mouth. He traces his tongue along the seam of Aziraphale’s plush lips, begging for entry. Aziraphale grants it to him almost immediately and a scorching heat spreads across his body as he feels Aziraphale’s tongue against his own. _Yes, oh fuck yes, finally._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, the final chapter will be primarily smut. I hope you've enjoyed the story so far!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale get to know one another in the biblical sense.

Crowley melts against Aziraphale, kissing him feverishly until he is light-headed with the headiness of it, until he feels like his knees might buckle. 

“Angel, if you want…the bedroom is…”

“I know, dear boy,” Aziraphale chuckles. “I know.”

Now, Crowley can’t help but feel that Aziraphale is the one who is talking about something else entirely. Those magnificent ocean eyes bore into him. It is as if the angel’s piercing stare is taking in every scrap of his torn and tattered soul, is exploring each frayed end and folded wrinkle, Crowley's very ethereal being sprawled out bare and wanting before him. He has never felt so _seen._

__

He hides his nakedness only from himself as he allows his eyes to flutter shut, unable to stand the feeling of omniscience in that gaze, and lets his kiss-bruised lips meet Aziraphale’s own.

“It’s alright, Crowley. I know,” he intones as their lips part. "I feel it, too.”

“Did you…” Crowley starts to ask and finds that the words stick in his throat. He rests his forehead against Aziraphale’s and tries again.

“When we switched bodies, did you feel…”

Aziraphale, bless him, interrupts. “Oh, love. _Yes._ Yes, I did. It was the most beautiful thing, darling, our souls intertwined. I could scarcely tell if it was my love, my want, my longing, that consumed me or yours. I could feel the heat of your skin, smell the apple blossoms in the Garden. I saw the flash of light on the horizon reflected in your eyes. I heard your voice. You were all around me, in me. It was…wonderful.”

Crowley moans, a wretched, wrecked sound.

“I… _oh, Aziraphale._ I want to feel you inside me again, please, let me…” He begs, chest flayed open, heart bared for the angel’s taking.

Aziraphale kisses him, soothing and sweet.

The pair stumble, intertwined, toward the bedroom. Crowley stops in the hallway to crowd Aziraphale against the wall. Shaking fingers work to undo Aziraphale’s bowtie and wrest free the top buttons of his shirt. He licks along Aziraphale’s collar bone and latches his mouth to the crook of the angel’s neck, relishing in the way Aziraphale gasps and shivers, the way the angel’s fingers clutch at him, digging into his flank. He undoes Aziraphale’s waistcoat and the rest of the buttons on his shirt before pushing it off his shoulders. Crowley kisses his way down Aziraphale’s chest and nips at the roundness of his belly just above the waistband on his trousers.

Aziraphale’s hands come up to tangle in Crowley’s hair, tugging gently. Crowley whimpers and nuzzles into Aziraphale’s still clothed crotch, mouthing against his cock, straining against the fabric. 

“Angel, I want to taste you,” he pleads, voice taking on a desperate quality he hardly recognizes. He is on his knees before Aziraphale, head bowed. In a distant memory, long sealed in the recesses of his mind, Crowley recalls what it is like to worship. He remembers what it feels like to prostrate himself before a higher power, reverent and defenseless. Crowley feels the urge to grovel before the angel, to worship him as he deserves. He wants to give him everything.

Aziraphale tugs his head up, forcing Crowley to look upon his face. He smiles down on him from above, his face sunshine bright. Crowley has to suppress the urge to shield his eyes. _He is radiant._

“All in good time, my dearest.” Aziraphale takes Crowley’s hand and pulls him to his feet. He presses a soft kiss to the inside of Crowley’s wrist before leading him into the bedroom.

“Strip,” Aziraphale commands. “I want to see you.” 

Crowley quickly divests himself of his jacket and fumbles at his shirt, buttons flying off in his haste. He growls in frustration, cursing unsteady hands. Aziraphale catches Crowley’s wrists, stilling him.

“Relax, Crowley. Breathe.”

Crowley gives a shuddering exhale and bites his lip. Aziraphale kisses him soundly, running his tongue across the spot where his teeth dig in. Crowley opens his mouth in a gasp and Aziraphale seizes the opportunity to take Crowley’s lower lip between his own teeth instead, worrying at it gently.

Infuriatingly steady hands finish removing his shirt, and Crowley knees almost buckle as he feels soft fingers graze over bare flesh, trailing down to his belt. Aziraphale undoes it with enviable ease and pops the button on Crowley’s jeans. He steps back, then, putting space between them.

Crowley wriggles his hips, pushing his jeans and undergarments down. Aziraphale watches intently, eyes alight with desire. Crowley’s patience wears immeasurably thin as he struggles with the tight garment and he snaps his fingers to rid himself of the remainder of his clothing. He stands, bare and achingly hard, before Aziraphale. He swears he can feel the heat of Aziraphale’s gaze as it rakes over his nude form.

“Stunning,” Aziraphale murmurs and opens his arms, beckoning Crowley forward. He steps into Aziraphale’s awaiting embrace and shivers as the angel’s hands draw along his spine. Aziraphale cups the cheeks of Crowley’s arse with both hands and pulls him flush against him. Crowley gasps at the skin to skin contact. He can feel the beat of Aziraphale’s heart against his chest, is sure Aziraphale can feel the rapid thumping of his own. Aziraphale latches his mouth to the sensitive spot where Crowley’s jaw meets his neck and sucks hard enough to bruise. Crowley bucks his hips, craving more, craving everything. 

"Oh, how I want you, Crowley, my darling."

"Aziraphale," Crowley whines. "Please, take me."

Too impatient to wait for Aziraphale to heed his plea, Crowley pushes against him, forcing him backward until his legs hit the edge of the bed. Crowley sinks to his knees once more and yanks the belt free from its clasp. He pulls Aziraphale’s trousers off and tosses them across the room. He grips the waistband of Aziraphale's boxers between his teeth and tugs. Aziraphale lifts his hips to allow Crowley to work them off. Crowley plants wet, open-mouthed kisses to the inside of Aziraphale's thigh and up to where it meets his hip, grazing the tender flesh with his teeth. Aziraphale gasps, squirms. Crowley turns his attention to Aziraphale's erection, laying heavy against his stomach. He licks up the length of it before taking the head into his mouth and sucks. Aziraphale groans and bucks his hips, forcing himself further into Crowley's welcoming mouth. Crowley lets Aziraphale fuck his mouth in earnest, groaning around the angel's cock, growing more and more aroused at the feeling of it pressed against the back of his throat. Crowley pulls off after a moment, wanting more, unable to stand the fact that Aziraphale isn’t inside him, filling him, surrounding him.

Crowley pushes Aziraphale's shoulders, urging him to slide back onto the bed. Crowley scrambles up after him, straddling the angel's waist. He guides Aziraphale to his entrance, miracle slick, and presses down. He tosses his head back and gives a throaty moan as he feels Aziraphale's cock breach him. Slowly, slowly he sinks further and stills when feels his hips flush against Aziraphale. Crowley locks eyes with Aziraphale and his throat tightens. Stinging tears brim as he takes in the look of absolute adoration the angel gives him. He grinds his hips against the other's, drawing Aziraphale as deep inside him as he is able.

It's not enough, nowhere near enough, so Crowley braces his hands against Aziraphale's chest and lifts himself up until he is barely inside before slamming back down. Aziraphale moans and digs his fingers into Crowley's hips, nails leaving reddened half-moons in his skin. Crowley repeats the motion, once, twice, and screams as the cock inside him strikes true. Galaxies burst forth before his eyes. He hears a crackle of electricity and feels a sudden gust of wind as his wings burst forth from the ether.

"Crowley, oh Crowley, you exquisite creature."

Aziraphale brings his hands up to caress inky black feathers. Crowley trembles, alight with sensation, as if every nerve in his body is connected to the place in his wings where Aziraphale touches. He rocks his hips, crying out.

"Please, Aziraphale, please." He doesn't even know what he is begging for, just that he wants _more._

Aziraphale leans up and grabs the top of Crowley's wings where they emerge from his shoulders. He uses the leverage to pull himself into a sitting position, Crowley in his lap. Crowley wraps his legs around Aziraphale's waist and presses his wings back into Aziraphale's grip. 

"I've got you, Crowley, it’s alright," he says and kisses him, stroking his hand along his wings. "I love you," he breathes. Crowley brings his arms up under Aziraphale's to clutch his back and buries his face in the crook of the angel's neck.

"Please," he whispers again.

"I love you," Aziraphale repeats and thrusts up into Crowley's eager body. Crowley grinds his hips down in small circles. The pair move as one, clinging tight to one another, rapidly increasing their pace.

Crowley’s hips stutter, breaking their rhythm, and he feels his stomach muscles tighten. Aziraphale inhales sharply as Crowley clenches around him, sinking his teeth into his shoulder to stifle his cries. He runs his hands up Crowley’s wings, against the grain, and tugs gently at the silky feathers. The sensation of Aziraphale touching, filling, every intimate part of him is overwhelming, _too much,_ and Crowley wails, his orgasm suddenly ripped from him. Aziraphale fucks him through his climax, whispering soothing words of love that Crowley’s pleasure-muddled mind cannot understand. He feels them in his soul anyway. Aziraphale kisses him, hard, and comes inside Crowley with a final deep thrust.

They kiss, lazily, for a few minutes, Aziraphale holding him close and still gently stroking his fingers over Crowley’s wings. Finally, Crowley breaks away and wriggles down Aziraphale’s body, gasping at the feeling of emptiness inside him. He nuzzles his cheek against the angel’s chest. Aziraphale lays back and takes Crowley in his arms. Crowley starts to draw in his wings but Aziraphale quietly states, “No, leave them.” 

Crowley complies and brings his wings around them in a loose cocoon. He thinks again of Eden, of Aziraphale sheltering him beneath his own snow-pure wings. _What a pair we make_ , he thinks, sleepily. _Come full circle._

Overcome with the intensity of his affection, he whispers, “I love you, Aziraphale. I think I... I always have. Maybe not in the same way I do now, that...it happened over time, that. But I think I was always meant to.” Aziraphale is silent for a long moment, and Crowley fidgets, suddenly embarrassed. He feels his face flush and, for a moment, he wants to disappear, until Aziraphale kisses the top of his head and tightens his arms around him.

“I love you too, my darling dearest. I feel the same. It’s...”

Crowley snorts, reminded of a time long ago. “Are you going to say ineffable?” 

Aziraphale laughs. Crowley likes how it sounds with his ear pressed against his chest. 

“I was going to say that it’s perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr at persephonesxreign. Come drop me a line if you'd like, I'd love to talk about these two dorks (or anything, really).


End file.
